


Easy

by StAnni



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: Eliot is easy – the elegant lines, tilted looks and soft chuckles.  It isn’t work.  He knows that.  But it feels like it takes more effort, so much more effort, to keep footing all the while attempting to stay in a vague, non-chalant state himself – to be easy, like Eliot.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Easy

It shouldn’t feel like it’s hard, and he knows it isn’t – not really. Eliot is easy – the elegant lines, tilted looks and soft chuckles. It isn’t work. He knows that. But it feels like it takes more effort, so much more effort, to keep footing all the while attempting to stay in a vague, non-chalant state himself – to be easy, like Eliot. 

From the other side of the couch Eliot glances at him, “Something on your mind, Q?” And if he could ask that question for real, like an answer - an honest answer - wouldn’t crash down on them like a world turned upside down, then maybe it could be easy. Maybe it could feel easy. 

“Nope.” He pretends to focus on the book he’s been pretending to read for the last hour. 

But Eliot doesn’t look away and his eyes, soft as they are, feel uncomfortably focused – pricking his skin. Quentin clears his throat feebly and to that Eliot smirks, still staring – holding him there in a gaze. “You sure?” Eliot is teasing, so utterly non-threatening, so utterly kind – that he has to grip the back of the book not to throw it at him. “Leave me alone, I’m reading.” He gripes, shifting in his seat away from Eliot's direction. 

When there are others, Margo, Penny, Eliot puts a hand on Quentin’s shoulder as he talks – gives him glances in a way that makes it seem like they share something. Sometimes he’ll even draw Quentin in, could be a hug, could be a simple gesture, or even a few words. It feels like pure sunlight – a tender warmth spreading through his veins in soft pulsing ripples. When there are others Eliot seems even easier, which makes it all even harder.

At night he stares at the ceiling thinking the words so loudly in his mind that he has to purse his lips not to say them, not to ask “Why not?” Sometimes Eliot is there, next to him, turned either away or towards him, naked and asleep. Sometimes Eliot is somewhere else, with someone else. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t breathe the question. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about the cottage, about keys, about peaches and plums.

Then there is an argument – and it starts as innocuous as anything – over whatever, he doesn’t even remember five minutes in – and he blurts it out – like he’s come undone at the seams just there, just a mess in Eliot’s shocked and quiet stare.  
“What do you want me to say, Quentin?” Eliot asks, serious – his name enunciated cruelly on Eliot’s silver tongue. So it’s silence and an awkward day that turns into a painfully awkward week and many, many nights alone.

Until Eliot closes the door so very quietly and moves the covers from the bed and sighs against his chin before he starts a trail of searing kisses down from Quentin’s navel. Eliot is easy, strong fingers and broad shoulders and control. Eliot is a narcotic wave – all hands thrown in the air on a rollercoaster. Memories wiped away, clean slates, empty, empty spaces.  
Late at night when he’s given up on sleep the question has burnt right through his heart again. Eliot breathes silently against his shoulder, olive skin and dark curls. If it were easy – it wouldn’t be. He knows that, pressing his lips tight, keeping the truth inside.


End file.
